


Snowstorm

by TheLynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLynx/pseuds/TheLynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting for a snowstorm to pass, Dorian asks Lavellan about his clan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snowstorm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nangka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nangka/gifts).



It was an absolutely miserable day.

Emprise du Lion was bitter at the best of times, but now it was downright frigid. Varric was glaring at the snow, Cassandra was trying her best to look only mildly annoyed, and Dorian would not shut up about how much he detested southern climates and how remarkably similar these mountains were to the ice-cold Orlesian desert nights. It was almost like any other day, except they had spent over a week hunting down red templars and closing rifts in the area and all of them felt quite like icicles. Even Lavellan, who specialized in fire magics, couldn’t keep himself warm in this weather.

Between the cold, the red lyrium, and the near-disasters they had had with using fire magic while fighting on frozen bodies of water, all of them were more than prepared to head back to Skyhold the first chance they got.

To top it all off, Lavellan had hurt his ankle, agitating the old injury from Haven, and there was a snowstorm on its way, the clouds growing grayer by the minute. They were trudging through the snow, hoping to find a cave or abandoned building to spend the night in since they were too far from any settlements.

“Aha,” said Varric, bringing the other three from their gloomy thoughts. He hurried ahead of Mahanon, jogging between a few trees before heading left and disappearing from view. The others followed silently, all breathing a sigh of relief as they noted the small entrance to the side of the mountain that Varric had gone through. The elf slipped through first, and the humans shuffled in afterwards, barely able to squeeze through the narrow passage.

The cavern they had entered was unnervingly warm, and there were no other entrances visible. There were a few worn-down wooden chairs and tables scattered about, but mostly the place was littered with chunks of stone, and a fine layer of dust had settled over everything. A tunnel led deeper into the mountain, flecks of glowing red flecking its walls. “Shit.”

“Yes, of course. We find shelter to escape impending doom, and all you can say in response to that is ‘shit,’” Dorian teased, half-grinning at the dwarf.

“You know, I could seriously do without finding red lyrium literally everywhere. I’m starting to have dreams about this shit.”

Mahanon snorted. “At least it won’t kill us. That seems far safer than the giant crystals we’ve seen elsewhere.” He balanced all his weight on his right foot as he talked, trying to make sure he didn’t hurt his other ankle too much. “Still, we don’t know what’s through those tunnels. If there’s any red templars, we’d better take care of them now.”

“No,” Cassandra said sternly. She raised a hand as the Inquisitor began to protest. “You are in no shape to fight right now.”

“I absolutely am!”

 _“No,”_ she said again, and he gritted his teeth. “Varric and I will go on ahead and take care of any nearby enemies. You need to take care of your injuries, and you’ll need Dorian here in case anything happens.”

Mahanon frowned. “I can defend myself,” he said, trying to maintain some dignity. The thought of being alone in the cavern didn’t appeal to him, though.

“Of course you can,” Varric reassured him with a tired smile. “But if Sparkler came with us, you’d be all too tempted to follow him around, wouldn’t you?” The dwarf counted the responding glare as a success.

By this point, Dorian had deemed at least one of the chairs nearby suitable for sitting, next to a table near the center of the cavern. He watched the others as they had their brief argument, pulling out some dried rations to chew on.

“Fine, I’ll sit around here and be useless, then.” Mahanon really would have rather gone on with them, but Cassandra was right—it would be reckless with his current condition. He needed to rest.

The Seeker sighed. “Healing yourself is not useless, Inquisitor. But we shouldn’t be gone too long. We’ll return once we’ve determined if there’s a threat or not, or once we’ve eliminated any threat.” With that, she and Varric took off down the tunnel, grim looks on their faces as they prayed not to run into too much trouble.

Mahanon sat down on the ground next to the table, prodding gently at his ankle. “Poking at it won’t do it any good,” Dorian chided between mouthfuls. He blinked when the elf cast a quick spell, gently lighting up the area. He hadn’t noticed it get so dark, but the snow had picked up outside, obscuring most of the sunlight that had filtered in.

Mahanon cast another spell, blue light glowing around his hands. Healing wasn’t his specialty—he wasn’t even proficient at it—but it worked quicker than elfroot, which they had unfortunately run out of. Even those plants could have a difficult time surviving frost.

Putting away the rest of his food, Dorian moved from his chair to sit next to his lover, slipping an arm around the other man’s waist as he finished his healing spell. The ground wasn’t much worse than the chair, he noted, and it was less likely to collapse beneath him. The two sat in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s warm company, before Dorian spoke again.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he started, removing his cheek from Mahanon’s shoulder, where it had been resting comfortably. “You never really talk about your clan, do you? The only time I’ve heard you mention them was the other week, during the game of Wicked Grace. For as much as I talk about my home, I know so little about yours.”

The memory drew a grin to the elf’s face as he recalled how that game had ended. “You’ve never asked about them.”

“Well, now I am. What’s life like? Do you have any friends there? Or just the Keeper? I seem to recall you’re the clan’s First? I don’t even know what that means, honestly. Not that you have to talk about them, if you’re in too much pain, of course.”

“This is nothing,” Mahanon said dismissively, waving his hand about. He moved both his arms behind him, leaning back on his hands as he looked towards the ceiling and thought for a minute about what to say.

“A clan’s First,” he started finally, “is first in line to succeed the Keeper, and the Second is the second in line. It’s a position we are given when we’re discovered to be mages. I was lucky, actually. A lot of Dalish mages can’t stay in their clans because there’s already three of them, and any more than that tends to make templars a bit too suspicious and aggressive.” He frowned, deciding not to elaborate on what happened to the other mages. This didn’t need to be a heavy conversation. “The Second in my clan, Briaril, is a few years younger than me, and she should be receiving her vallaslin soon. She’s a bit less interested in her studies than me, but she’s a good person.”

Dorian nodded and smiled, content to listen without interrupting. He drank up every word.

“Let’s see… there’s also the hahren, the elders, and they’re sort of like lorekeepers. They work together with the Keeper to run the clan. We’ve got hunters, craftsmen, healers, and halla keepers. All rather self-explanatory titles.” Mahanon grimaced at a thought. “I’m really not cut out for this Inquisitor business. You saw how awfully I used to fight. A hunter would’ve been better equipped for all of… this.”

“I hardly think anyone else would’ve been as well equipped as you to fall into the arms of a Tevinter mage,” Dorian pointed out, and the elf rolled his eyes as he tried to suppress a smile. “And what of your friends and family?”

“I know everyone in my clan. Sort of hard not to. The ones I’m closest to would be Cyrnarel and his sibling.” He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye now. “Believe it or not, you’re not the first man I’ve ever loved.”

Dorian’s heart fluttered at that word. _Love._ It was not a word he was comfortable saying, but it was surprisingly exciting to hear. The word came so easily to the other man. He tilted his head a little, leaning back onto the closest leg of the table behind him. “Really? Am I going to have to fend off a number of jealous ex-lovers, then? Compete with them for your affections?”

Mahanon laughed. “No, no, that’s a really strange shemlen thing,” he said amusedly. “There’s not a lot of room in a clan for jealousy. Makes the whole system break down when there’s problems like that. Bad for survival. Anyway, Cyrnarel and I are good friends now, but we were involved for a few years. He’s a hunter. I became more involved in my studies of magic, he spent more time with other hunters and crafters, and he found someone else he liked, and decided to bond with them. Bonding’s a bit like marriage for you, but less political than your situation.

“Talking about Cyrnarel, you remember that story I told previously? He practically lives for things right that.” Mahanon had a huge grin plastered on his face. He leaned forward, moving his arms from behind him so they were resting on his knees. “I even hoped he’d show up in Haven to play pranks on Cullen, make him shut up for once. Cyrnarel’s brave enough to sneak around wandering groups of shemlen at night, and he’s skilled enough to frighten them easy—the right growls and rustled leaves, and they’re running back to their cities, scared that they’re gonna be eaten by wolves. Have you ever seen a bunch of templars _fleeing_ a single elf? Creators, it’s absolutely hilarious.”

“Well, I’ve seen templars flee from you, but you’re a bit terrifying when you’re summoning massive amounts of fire.” That got another laugh from the elf. He winced, quickly casting another healing spell on his ankle. It would work better if his boot was off, but he had to keep pressure on it.

“His sibling, Tav, started out as a hunter, but after a nasty accident that left rei unable to walk, rei decided to pick up crafting. It fits rei well, honestly. Tav’s a complete natural with ironbark. Rei had a child this past winter, too! Named them Eloris. I almost thought they wouldn’t survive—my clan’s had a difficult time trading with humans for food since the war between mages and templars began.”

“I’m glad they survived,” Dorian said. His lover was happy, something all too rare lately, and he really wanted this to last. He could read the homesickness all over Mahanon’s face too, however, and that was painful. He reached out a hand to hold the elf’s face, running his thumb over the deep red lines on his cheek. “And your vallaslin—that’s what you call it, yes?—what does that mean?”

Mahanon pulled the human’s hand down from his face to hold it in his own. “We get it as a coming of age ceremony,” he said. “It represents our gods and sets us apart from other people. The symbols on my face are of Elgar’nan, god of vengeance.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem to be the vengeful type.”

“No, I’m not. He’s more than that, he’s a father and a leader, and works alongside Mythal, the protector. He is passionate; she is logical. There’s a lot we don’t know about them, though, lost with the rest of our history. And a lot we do know, but if the Chant of Light bores me, everything I know about my gods must bore you.” He grinned. “Even Cyrnarel complains when I go on about religion, just as much as when I go on about magic.”

The other mage leaned in suddenly to give him a kiss, and he let out a started squeak before melting into it. Creators, but he was tired. “It seems we’ve run out of privacy,” Dorian murmured against his lips before leaning back into the table.

Mahanon covered his mouth to hide a yawn as he turned his head, Cassandra and Varric returning from the red lyrium-flecked tunnel. There was some blood on their armor, beginning to dry.

“We found a few red templars, but they won’t be bothering us anymore,” Cassandra said. “For now, we should get some rest. I’d like to leave as soon as this snowstorm is over.” She looked out to the small passage through which they had originally entered. The snow was deeper now, and winds blew flakes around furiously, blocking all visibility of the emprise. “Have you eaten, Inquisitor?”

The elf blinked, just now realizing his neglected stomach. He’d been too busy chatting with Dorian to worry about food. Shrugging, he pulled some rations out of a pouch and began chewing on them. The other three began to set up bedrolls, foregoing tents and the hassle of setting them up, even though the cavern was large enough to fit them.

Once Mahanon had eaten, he promptly set up his own bedroll next to Dorian’s, lying down next to him. The other man was almost asleep, but a small smile emerged underneath his well-groomed mustache. “I’ll tell you more about my clan later, ma vhenan,” Mahanon mumbled into his neck. He promptly fell asleep, happier than he had been in days and grateful that his friends had given him the opportunity to unwind. He might have a clan back in the Free Marches, but the Inquisition—and Dorian—were just as precious to him now.


End file.
